Spellfall (26 page)

~~*~~

As soon as they were out of the cellar, Mr Marlins took charge. He sent Gaz and Dave, as the two fittest cyclists with the most serviceable bikes, back to Millennium Green with a hastily scribbled note and orders to hand it straight in at the police station. Neither boy argued. It seemed that finding the prisoners in the cellar had tapped some previously unsuspected vein of responsibility; or maybe Gaz and Dave were just glad of an excuse to get out of Unicorn Wood. They skidded off into the wood, leaves and mud spraying from their wheels.

Mr Marlins organized Tim and the remaining Heads to do a thorough search of the Lodge. They were looking for spells, he explained matter-of-factly, and showed them the one he’d peeled off the vault door. If they glittered, they were alive and needed cautious handling. If they didn’t glitter, they were dead. “What you’re looking for are the ones creating the illusion on the Lodge,” he told the wide-eyed boys. “It’s the Opening, so you should be able to see them all right, but be careful. They can give you a bad burn, maybe worse.”

The younger Heads’ eyes lit up at this promise of danger and they were soon crawling under tables and inside cupboards, shining their bicycle lamps behind heavy items of furniture and into the attics, making ghostly noises and leaping out of dark corners with blood-curdling yells. Meanwhile, Mr Marlins disappeared back into the cellar to see if he could get the generator working.

Tim pulled his jacket closer and went outside, needing air. Jo’s little speech must have really got to Gaz, he thought with a smile. The gang’s appetite for excitement had done the rest. Apparently, they’d found the key to the cellar door hanging on a large hook on the wall of the passage. “Even stupider than hiding their front door key under the mat!” was Mike’s comment, until he heard about illusion spells. Then he went quiet. There had been a live spell wrapped around the cellar key. Pizzaface had burnt his fingers on it when, hearing noises in the cellar, the Heads had dared one another to open the door. They’d all thought Pizzaface was making excuses so he wouldn’t have to complete the dare. Strange how things worked out.

Tim looked at the trees. Their branches still had that unnatural shine as they creaked in the night breeze. Nat and Jo were out there somewhere. He hoped they were OK.

By the time the convoy of flashing blue lights and wailing sirens arrived at the gate he had found three live spells. One flattened beneath the doormat, the second caught on a bramble that overgrew the path, the third tucked inside the padlock on the gate itself. He extracted the final spell with the tweezers in his penknife and slipped it into his pocket just as the first mud-spattered squad car drew up. A uniformed officer armed with a large pair of wire cutters made short work of the chain on the gate, then helped Tim drag the gates wide to let the convoy through. The hinges complained with a noise like a giant’s fingernails scraping down a blackboard, and shed clouds of rust.

Mr Marlins emerged from the Lodge and exchanged a few words with the officer in charge while the others unloaded some interesting looking equipment from the back of a van and disappeared inside. Tim hurried after them before anyone thought to keep him out. Gaz and Dave, eyes sparkling with excitement, climbed out of one of the cars, dodged the man who had taken up position at the door, and ducked inside too.

They found the other three Heads at the top of the cellar steps, hopping up and down trying to see what was going on. A large uniformed policeman barred their way with folded arms. “You lads had best stay up here for the time being,” he said. “They might have to blow the door.”

“Cool!” Gaz said. “Are they using dynamite?”

Tim thought of the spells. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

The Heads gave him scathing looks but the policeman smiled. “Don’t worry, lad, your father’s explained. The boys are very experienced in these matters. They’ll take every precaution.”

Tim let the
father
bit go. More important things were happening here. But the explosion when it came was disappointing. Barely a pop, followed by a small puff of dust from the tunnel.

“Can we go down yet?” Gaz said, craning his neck to see over the big man’s shoulder.

“Not yet.”

“But my stepfather’s down there,” Tim said.

“I’m sorry lad, you’ll have to wait until the boys have checked it over.”

“But—”

The policeman tightened his lips and refolded his arms. Tim sighed. This was obviously one of those times when it would be useless to argue with authority. The Heads backed off and sat against the passage wall, exchanging stories while Tim shared out the rest of his chocolate. Predictably, Pizzaface ate most of it. Meanwhile, radios crackled and official looking men and women rushed in and out, clattering up and down the stairs, cursing equipment that evidently wasn’t working quite as well as it should. Then two figures clad from head to toe in crackling silver came through the front door, one of them lugging what looked like a picnic coolbox covered with bright yellow hazardous-substance stickers. They disappeared into the cellar and emerged a few minutes later carrying the coolbox carefully between them.

Tim stood. “Can we go down now?”

The man guarding the cellar door still looked doubtful but after a moment Mr Marlins came to the bottom of the steps. “It’s safe enough now, isn’t it?” he called back up the tunnel and someone mumbled an affirmative. Mr Marlins smiled. “Tim? You can come down as long as you don’t touch anything. Want to see what the Casters were up to?”

After seeing the silver suits, Tim wasn’t so sure he did. But aware of the Heads’ envious eyes, he descended the steps. Someone had strung temporary lights along the tunnel, which fizzed and flickered as he followed Mr Marlins through the settling dust. As they stepped carefully over the thick metal door, which had been taken off its hinges by the explosion, Tim let out a whistle.

It was like the science lab at school, only bigger and better equipped. Everywhere he looked, glass tubes and bottles and flasks glittered in the beams of powerful torches. He recognized a centrifuge but much of the equipment looked hi-tech and expensive. Boxes stored under the benches had flying black birds stamped on their sides. Tim’s eye was drawn to a rack of test tubes that contained rolled-up spells in different coloured liquids, some glimmering, others dull.

He looked at Mr Marlins. “What were they doing with the spells?”

“Shh!”

His stepfather nodded to a prowling plainclothes man making a report into a hand-held tape recorder. “Herbicide... systemic... heterocyclic... genome...” The recorder kept switching itself off. The man shook it, looking annoyed.

Science wasn’t Tim’s strong point. He latched on to the only word he recognized. “Herbicide?” he said. “That’s like a weed killer, isn’t it?”

Mr Marlins nodded. “That man’s from the Ministry of Agriculture. He’s pretty worried. He thinks they’ve been manufacturing an unauthorized biochemical down here.” He lowered his voice. “It’s clever. Earthaven’s defences keep out technology but something like this might well confuse them. The Casters have been tinkering with genes and things. My guess is they’ve been analysing spells to mimic the enchantment-gene, and fixed their poison to attack the soultree. All they have to do is apply it to a small branch, or maybe a root, and soon the whole tree will be infected in exactly the same way our bodies get infected by a virus.”

Tim’s head began to throb again. “What’s a soultree?”

Mr Marlins smiled. “I keep forgetting, you’re not one of us. I’ll explain later. Shh, now.”

The Ministry man had given up on his tape recorder and was heading their way. He frowned at Tim. “I understand you were watching when these people left the Lodge? It’ll help if we know how much of the substance they took with them. Did you see anything that might have contained a dangerous liquid? A can or a drum, for example?”

Tim started to shake his head. “Only bows and arrows and stuff, though they had some rucksacks—” Then he remembered. “The coffee!”

“I’m sorry?”

“They had a metal flask – about so big – and it had one of those black birds on the side!”

A heavy sigh. “More than enough to do damage.” The Ministry man turned to Mr Marlins. “We’ve a helicopter on the way with an infrared camera, and the police are going in with the dogs. We’ll soon find these people if they’re out there. I only hope your daughter and her friend have the sense to stay away from that flask. We can’t be sure until we’ve analysed it, of course, but such cocktails are often highly poisonous to humans as well as plant life.” He gave them a distracted glance, then left the lab.

Tim looked at Mr Marlins in alarm.

His stepfather was staring at the flattened door, the strangest expression on his face. “Oh, they’re out there,” he said softly. “But I’m not sure you’re going to find them.”

*

With their ears pressed to the earth of another world, the two girls heard the unicorns coming long before they saw them – a wild rushing sound, like surf across pebbles. They shifted closer together and gripped hands as leaves spiralled out of the stars. The goshawk gave a warning screech, and the Casters drew back their bowstrings as yelling Herders mounted on blurs of silver light burst from the wood.

Lord Hawk sprang out of the trench, shouting orders. Unicorn hooves
shimmered
over the wilting moonflowers, spears glittered, horns trailed rainbows through the night. Then the first rush was past, and the Casters loosed their arrows. Spellfire arced overhead trailing purple sparks, missing their targets by miles.

Nothing moves fasterrr than a unicorrrn,
said K’tanaqui, bounding out of the trees, his tongue lolling in a magehound laugh.

Natalie flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Clever K’tanaqui! But they’ve already done something to Oq.”

Jo gaped at the unicorns, wide-eyed. “Are those what I think they are?” she breathed. “Oh, they’re
beautiful!”

Casterrrs have hands full now
, K’tanaqui said smugly.
Not hurrrt Oq again.

Natalie watched a unicorn charge the black-bearded Ferret. Its rider, a woman with a long golden braid coiled about her head, crouched over the luminous neck and levelled her spear. Ferret let fly an arrow, which missed; and reached over his shoulder for another. But there was no time to reload. He flung down his bow and sprinted for the trees. The unicorn caught him before he was halfway there, dug its horn into the centre of his back and flung his body high into the wood. It thudded against a tree trunk and disappeared in a flurry of snapping twigs and whirling leaves. The unicorn reared, the tip of its beautiful horn dripping blood.

Natalie pressed a hand to her mouth in horror. She had thought Merlin was just being pathetic when he’d said unicorns gored people and ate them.

Horrrns useful weapons
, K’tanaqui informed her.
But unicorrrns vegeterrrrians.

“But he’s dead, isn’t he? That unicorn killed him!” An hysterical giggle escaped her. Jo hugged her close, looking shocked too.

Now the initial surprise was over, the surviving Casters closed ranks. They used their trench for cover, shooting deadly fire-arrows over the edge then quickly ducking back down before a Herder could throw a spear. The unicorns pulled up out of bow range, snorting frosty breath into the night. Natalie made a quick count. She’d thought there were hundreds but there were only eight. Bearing their proud riders without bridles or saddles, they
shimmered
between one patch of burning grass and the next, untouchable.

“We’ll smoke you out like rabbits from a burrow!” shouted the woman whose mount had gored Ferret.

“Trample you into the earth!”

“You made a mistake coming here, Casters!”

The spellclave was quiet, huddled in their trench with their heads down. Natalie frowned. “They’re up to something,” she whispered. Even as she spoke, there was an unearthly screech as Hunter dived at the golden-haired woman, his powerful wings beating her face, talons clawing at her eyes. Her mount reared, causing the others to shy. At the same moment, Lord Hawk gave a shout and the Casters let fly another volley of fire-arrows.

The woman Herder got her mount under control but a lucky shot struck it on the rump. The arrowhead caught fast and the unicorn screamed as spellfire licked its silver hide. She immediately beat the flames with her cloak but to no avail. With another scream, the wounded unicorn took off through the trees, its tail streaming purple sparks, the woman clinging valiantly to the mane. Hunter gave chase,
caaa-ing
in triumph.

“I feel sick,” Jo said. “That was horrible. Did you see its tail burning?”

Natalie forced her mind from the unicorn’s pain and pushed Jo’s arms away. “You can be sick later. We’ve got to get that canister off Lord Hawk before he has a chance to use it again. Quick, while they’re distracted.”

Jo gave her a startled look. “You’ve changed Nat, you know that?” She reversed her cap and set her jaw. “I’m ready.”

They began to work their way round to the rucksacks, keeping to the undergrowth as much as possible. The Casters were busy watching the remaining seven unicorns, and the goshawk had yet to return, so the approach wasn’t as difficult as Natalie had feared. K’tanaqui wriggled anxiously on his belly behind them, his coat gathering yet more leaves and mud.

Pups be carrreful. Neverrr underrrestimate Casterrrs.

The spellclave and the Herders appeared to be at a stand-off. While the unicorns remained beyond bow range, the Casters couldn’t harm them. But neither could the Casters risk climbing out of the trench, in case a unicorn charged and gored them.

The rucksack that had contained the Raven was empty. Mouth dry, Natalie crept to the edge and peered down. Lord Hawk and Claudia were crouched over a pile of arrows, Claudia unwrapping the live spells from their heads, while Lord Hawk twisted them around his stick. The canister lay in the soil behind him, apparently forgotten. Natalie frowned. Then she understood. “They’re going to transport out!” she hissed. “If they do, we’ll never find them again! We’ve got to get the Raven. Right now!”